Left 4 Dead 2  Island Heat
by DWMizu
Summary: The survivors from Left 4 Dead 2 find that despite escaping from New Orleans, their troubles are still far from over.
1. The Message

**A/N - This is my first L4D2 fic, it might be kinda rough in places. Like the summary suggests, this takes place after the Parish level, and what seems to be the ending of Left 4 Dead 2. Content might be subject to change, as I want it to try to stay true to canon.**

His breathing was heavy, ragged. They'd been running all night, all night. They didn't dare sleep, not with those... things... on the loose. No, they had to keep moving, or die. And dying wasn't on his to-do list. Not yet, anyway. They had found their way to this safe house, and though things were quiet for the moment, a storm was brewing outside. He knew that they were probably stuck there for the night. He hears heavy breathing behind him, higher, faster paced breathing.

"Rochelle," he whispered. "How's Coach?"

"He'll live. Coach may not look it, but he's pretty tough." her breathing slowed a bit, as she mopped the sweat from her face.  
They had arrived in this small town after the chopper had taken them away from that godforsaken bridge, and into a military encampment to be quarantined, and "cleaned", only to have the based get attacked by a much larger horde of zombies - bigger than any they'd seen so far.

He knew that they were carriers of this virus, and the only blessing is that they were immune to it's effects. He smirked bitterly, thinking about those odds. The chances of there being that many more survivors looked mighty grim, though a couple of days ago, they had come across three more after escaping in Jimmy Gibbs Jr.'s stock car. He wondered for a moment if they were still alive. Taking into account the older man that gave his life to save them, he hoped so. A feeling he hadn't had in a long time - remorse? crept into him. He really hoped they made it, that they were safe.

He looked at Ellis, who had sat down on a makeshift sofa in their current safe house. His head hung down, his eyes closed, he'd brought a hand up to his forehead, sweat beading upon his brow. Even his happy-go-lucky manner was beginning to dissolve into the drudgery of just trying to survive. Nick knew that he was probably thinking of that girl on the bridge. Whether or not he'd see her again. He turned to face the writing on the wall, thinking to himself. Nothing in this life is ever certain,  
and with a grim afterthought - not even death.

Coach groaned, the wound on his forehead bandaged and treated by Rochelle. He'd taken a nasty gash to the head when the army base was overrun. In all of Nick's 35 years on the planet, he'd never seen a thing like it. He remembered seeing the zombie horde overpower the walls of the compound, as they were awaiting transport to a cruise ship harboring other survivors. They'd barely escaped then, too. Coach had gone off like a madman on the zombies, wielding a fire ax and hacking them this way and that. He so desperately wanted an end to this nightmare. They all did. Coach only stopped when a hunter managed to tackle him and start ripping at him. His wounds were minimal, but the hunter went for his head, leaving a large gash wound that ran from the crown down the side of his face.

The force had knocked him unconscious; it was Nick and Ellis who managed to heft him into the security boat before they were overran. Nick cringed. He could remember an army private screaming at them to get on the boat,  
before a jockey pounced upon his shoulders and managed to rip his head clean off. He, Ellis, and Rochelle stared in awe as they left, watching as the ones who stayed behind to fight were slaughtered brutally. They were the last ones to make it out alive, and this became clear as they tried to keep up with the other boats that had jettisoned before they did, but to no avail. A thick fog had settled in, and the small radar console set in the control panel of the boat had shorted out long ago. Just their luck, really. That's how the last few days had been to them.

Nick sighed, as he continued to read some of the messages written on the walls of the safe house - "Alena - I pray you are able to read this message. I went for the highlands. I have a bad feeling about those cruise ships. I'll be at Paw-Paw's, follow if you are able, - Naeten." "John - Dad is missing, we can't find him. Mom is dead, they had gotten to her before we could. Stay safe and meet us at the Place. - Dee" "Collect the sunshine from sunflowers - What are you, on crack?" Nick smirked, until he saw a message scribbled hastily next to the door. "Ellis - We're heading out towards Matagorda Island, Texas. The Keys weren't as safe as Bill had thought. We're still alive... hope to see you again soon. - Zoey."

"Hey Ellis," Nick began, "did you see this?"

Ellis looked up, his hand covering his face. He screwed his eyes up at Nick, studying him for a moment, before he lifted himself heavily from the sofa and paced over to the wall. His eyes scanned the message, not quite taking in what he was reading at first, until it dawned on him. "Z... Zoey! They're alright!" His demeanor immediately lightened upon reading this, but he frowned slightly. "Or they were... Uhm, Nick, brother... what are we going to do? D'you think we should follow them, or..." his voice trailed off in thought.

"We could I suppose. I don't know much about Texas... other than I'm not allowed in several bars in the San Antonio area..." Nick returned to the table, where they had their small stash of weapons that they managed to salvage from the army boat. Coach's fire ax lie against the wall, the handle almost split in two from the sheer force he wielded behind it. Nick had to hand it to the guy - he was a bear when he was pissed.

Rochelle glanced between the two of them. "Well... for what it's worth, there is a state park there. And a wildlife preserve. Though we should try to make it to one of those cruise ships..."

"How, though?" Ellis interjected, "We can't track any kind of traffic on that barge. I mean, I can tinker with it a bit, sure, but I've only worked on cars, radar equipment is a bit out of my league."

"You can say that again."

"Nick... brother, seriously. Not cool. Anyway, it's a long shot. At least with this place, all we have to do is follow the coastline."

"Sounds too easy," Nick responded. Rochelle glared at him. "What? In case you guys haven't noticed, things haven't exactly been that easy for us. It's like Murphy took his law, blended it with a shit ton of fiber, drank it down, and - "

"OKAY, we don't need that visual, Nick," Rochelle interrupted, "For godsakes... just, no." She turned her attention to Coach, who was still groggy, still drifting in and out of unconsciousness. "In any case, guys, I don't think we're going anywhere, at least for a while yet. Coach is injured pretty badly, we need to give him a day or so."

Nick buried his face in his hands. They didn't have that much time. But he knew better than to argue. He paced towards the crude basement bathroom, turned on the cold water tap, and grimaced as light brownish colored water came out. Wincing, he shut the faucet off, and examined himself in the mirror. His face showed the stress of having dealt with the zombies over the last few days. His five o'clock shadow had come in, a small cut on his brow still stung slightly. He still looked decent, considering everything they'd been through. Taking a square of paper towel and wetting it with the slightly tainted water, he proceeded to clean his face as best he could. His cut stung a bit more at this, yet he shrugged it off. It's not as bad as getting slammed by a charger.

And, as a darker thought came over him when the sky rumbled overhead with thunder, it's nowhere near as bad as getting bitch slapped by a tank.


	2. The Bump in the Night

**A/N: I just want to note, if you listen to some of the raw sound files of the Charger, it really does almost sound like he's saying "I'm gonna get you" on one of them. At least, that's what it sounded like to me. Listen for yourself, and keep that in mind.**

* * *

The storm raged on around them as they huddled in the safe house, waiting for Coach to recover from his wounds. Ellis continued to stare at the message written by Zoey, as if the writing would suddenly congeal and morph into the young woman before him. Bags were forming under his eyes, as sleeplessness began to take it's toll on him. It wasn't long before he finally dropped off, his shotgun across his lap, hat tipped over his eyes. Rochelle had rested her head on the arm of the couch where Coach lie, drifting in and out of sleep, waking long enough to check on him periodically.

Nick was looking over an atlas someone had left in the safe house, with the phrase "Criken wuz here!" scribbled in permanent marker on the cover. He managed to locate Matagorda island, and though on paper it didn't look that far, he knew they were in for a hell of a trip. He realized that, they weren't quite sure where they were, other than it wasn't New Orleans, and certainly not safety.

He wondered how long ago it was that Zoey, Francis, and Louis had passed through here, and why they were making towards Texas after finding out whatever it was about the Keys that made them leave. He circled Matagorda Island with a small pencil. He didn't like it, but they won't be making it to the cruise ships anytime soon. He sighed, folded the atlas up, and tossed it to the far end of the table. He was about to rest his head on the table when he heard a loud crash outside, followed by a grunting noise that almost sounded like, "I'm going to get you."

Charger.

Nick, grabbing his magnum, peeked out the small boarded up window. The Charger had someone in his grip, smacking them on the ground repeatedly. The sound of bones breaking and a final scream from the figure pierced through the storm, signalling the end of that man's life. It gave Nick chills. Things like that always had. He took his aim, in case that thing decided to come for them.

The Charger rammed the dead man further, blood spraying into the gale, bones splintering and crackling through dead flesh. Then without warning, he let out a triumphant wail, and charged right into the boat, knocking it loose and sending it spiraling out into the waters of the Gulf. The Charger stumbled backwards, almost falling into the deep water.

"Oh, god DAMN it!" Nick cursed, and he fired at the Charger, missing the mutated zombie by inches. The gunshots woke Ellis up, who then stumbled backwards a little and managed to catch his gun, but not before it went off, punching a dent in the concrete ceiling, and startling Rochelle out of her stupor. Coach lifted his head, looking through bleary eyes at Ellis. "Will you cut that shit out?" he gritted his teeth, "What, you want to let those zombies know we're here?"

Ellis, still staring at Nick, sat up. "What in the hell, Nick?"

Nick, reloading his magnum, said nothing at first. He aimed once more, as the Charger reeled around, looking for the source of the gunfire. It let out a loud warlike cry as it looked in the direction of the safe house, and then, putting it's weight behind it, it did just as it's namesake, charging full speed at the safe house door, when Nick clipped it, followed by a shotgun blast from Ellis, who had looked out of the other small window and saw what was happening. The Charger let out a feeble groan before hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

The smell of gunpowder and tension wafted through the safe house, as Nick holstered his magnum, and made to pat Ellis on the back. "Nice shooting, Ellis," he said quietly. Ellis still stared at him. So did Rochelle, and much to Nick's embarrassment, now Coach. He swallowed hard. "Guys, you know I hate to be the bearer of bad news."

"Never stopped you before," Rochelle remarked, her heart still racing.

"Very funny, sweetheart. I hate to break it to you guys, but our boat is gone. A Charger just killed a man, and rammed into the damned thing. We aren't leaving that way." He pulled away from the window, and sat heavily in the chair in front of the table. Ellis moved back towards the window, and saw to his dismay that Nick was right. Their boat was gone. "Shit," he muttered.

"Alright. You were the bearer of bad news. Nothing new, Nick. Now what the hell happened while I was out cold?" Coach uttered, rubbing the bandaged side of his head.

"Not much, Coach," Ellis replied, "We managed to get on that boat, but the radar equipment on it was shot, so we couldn't find hide nor hair of the other boats that left. We came here after Rochelle spotted the safe house sign." He sat back down by door where he once again stared at Zoey's message. "So now we have to figure out some way of getting to Matagorda Island without a boat... Shit, shit, shiiiiiitt."

Coach looked at him. "Mata-what? Where's that at? And what the hell is at this island?"

Ellis's face grew red. "Er, well, ahhhh..."

"Zoey, Louis, and Francis went that way," Rochelle answered quickly, "and since making it to the cruise ships is now completely impossible, it's the best option we've got. Either that, or we stay here..."

Nick rubbed his figner along a table carving, deep in thought. They weren't leaving that night, unless necessity dictated that they do. But he was certain, staying wasn't an option. They had some provisions to keep them for a couple of days, at most, but not enough for a long term shelter. No. They were going to have to figure something out. New Orleans had fallen. The army base they had thought led to their safety was in ruins. And now their boat is gone.

"I think maybe it's best we try to go back to sleep," Coach muttered, lowering himself gingerly back onto the sofa. "I think we've had enough excitement tonight."

"I've had enough excitement to last me for the rest of my life," Rochelle replied, yawning and rubbing her eyes. "And we're still not out of the woods yet..."


	3. Ellis's 99 Percent Foolproof Escape Plan

**A/N Sorry for the slight delay in an update, I've been doing "character research" (read: playing L4D2, lulz.)**

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* * *

**

Nick had fallen asleep long after the other three had. He'd stayed up to keep watch, in case they had a sudden horde on them, but also to look over the map one more time. He couldn't really work out where they were, other than way west of New Orleans. The night pressed on, and all he could hear was the sound of crickets, and Coach's ragged breathing. He only made to close his eyes for just a second, but he was out like a light.

His soft snores echoed throughout the safe room, as Ellis was the first to wake. His back was sore, having slept against the wall by the door marked 'exit', and he felt like he had a cold coming on. Great, he thought. He stood up slowly and stretched, and though it was soft, he heard it.

Crying.

"Oh, son of a-" he began, as he looked out the doorway, trying to keep himself somewhat concealed behind the bars and frame of the window..

Through the bars, he could see her, pacing about a good ten feet from the door. She walked along, bloodied hands to her face as she wept, long platinum blonde hair hanging over her face. She walked along, slowly, then stopped. She let out a small gasp and turned to see Ellis staring at her. A soft growl escaped her lips.

Ellis ducked down, heart racing, breathing heavily. He hated witches. He waited with bated breath waiting for her to continue crying again. There was nothing but silence, except for the rapid beating of his heart, before finally the witch began wailing pitifully again, walking slowly away from the safe house. A soft gasp from the other side of the room made him jump - Rochelle was awake. She looked questioningly at him. He put a finger up to his lips, and slowly peered out the barred doors of the safe house. He couldn't see the witch, but he could still hear her. She moved in beside him, listening intently. "Just what we need," she whispered, "and us with no chainsaw..."

The witch's pititful wail continued unabated, as they listened intently to where she had gone. For some reason, they noticed, she'd been keeping a steady patrol, stopping about five yards away from the safe house each time she got near. Rochelle shrugged at Ellis. They'd never noticed any witches they'd seen do that before.

"Whaddya think, Ro?" Ellis whispered, "Think we'll be able to take her?"

"Assuming we all have shotguns, maybe," she looked towards a small supply closet across from them, next to the bathroom. "Anybody look in there?" Ellis shook his head, and so Rochelle pried the door open. Inside the small room were a bunch of propane tanks, a small stack of cinder blocks in one corner, and one shelf were some molotovs and a couple of pipe bombs. She picked one of these up, carefully examining it. "Lots of explosive shit in here, mostly propane tanks..."

"I see that. Hank Hill would be proud." Ellis chuckled. He had moved over next to her, and pulled a molotov off the shelf. "We are definitely going to need these."

"You ever wonder how people make these?" she asked, pulling another pipe bomb from the shelf.

"Well, I hear that there are people who have instructions for them on them computers. Hey, that reminds me, I ever tell ya about the time me and Keith built a potato gun outta PVC pipe and Aqua Net? Now, I knew nothin' about how flammable hairspray could be, but Keith, he loaded that thing up with this hairspray, see. Well, come to find out, it doesn't require much of the stuff. Burns over 90% of his body, the skin grafts took ages to heal, and-"

"Ellis, sweetie, maybe you can tell me about that later," Rochelle chuckled softly. She quickly put the bomb back - part of it was broken, some of the explosive content was leaking out of it. She spied a small map on the back wall of the room. "Hey... maybe this will give us an idea of where we're at..." A bright red dot on the bottom of the Louisiana map was marked -Boston Bayou- YOU ARE HERE. "Boston Bayou... Hey, we're just south of Lafayette." A message underneath said, "Head northwest to the Exxon airstrip, they're sending in choppers to get the remaining residents out."

She carefully pulled the map down from the wall, and walked back into the main area of the safe house, where Nick had finally woke up, his hair mussed and his eyes somewhat bloodshot. He looked at Rochelle, then at the map she held. "Rochelle... what's that?" She handed him the map, and sat down across from him. "Boston Bayou? Never heard of it. At least now we know where we're at." He pulled out the atlas again, and studied it a moment. He smirked. "Isn't there a town around here that arrests people for baggy pants? You might wanna pull those up, Ellis, you don't want to get six months for indecent exposure."

"Oh, ha ha, very funny," Ellis sniffed. He paused as the witch's crying grew louder once more.

"Oh, now that's just perfect," Nick muttered. "Though I can't say it surprises me. Because it doesn't."

"Shut up, Nick," Rochelle snapped, then turned to Ellis. "We need to figure out how to get past her. Any ideas?"

Ellis stood there for a moment, before a mischievous grin crossed his face. "Oh, I have an idea. But we'll have to be prepared to move if it works."

* * *

It was about midday when Coach had come to. Ellis had ran the plan of escape past him. Coach wasn't entirely sure, but even he agreed, it would be amazing if they pulled it off. Ellis was busy with a screwdriver, unbolting the hinges of the exit door, while the other three gathered their rations and weapons together. They were going to have to make this quick if this was going to work.

"Of all the crazy-assed ideas I've EVER heard of..." Nick went on, mulling over the plan, "Ellis, if this works... well, I'll stop calling you Overalls. Deal?"

Ellis rolled his eyes. "Riiiiiight. You'd still do it, Nick."

"Damn. Well, I tried."

Ellis popped the last bolt out of place. "Alright guys. It's showtime. Coach, you in place?"

He stood against the wall with a cinderblock in his hands, his guns and a defib unit strapped to his back. He stood behind the door of the propane closet. "I'm ready, youngun. But I won't lie, this is absolutely nuts."

"Ro?"

A click from her sniper rifle was her answer.

"Nick?"

Nick stood there, ready, with a pipe bomb. They tied an extra fuse to it to ensure they had plenty of time to get the hell out of there after he threw it. He held it in front of him, poised for the attack. "Yeppers. Let's do this shit!"

Ellis knelt down, his back pressed slightly against the door. Outside, the witch was walking slowly towards the safe house, wailing just as loudly as ever. Rochelle steadied her aim. She had to be precise, and quick. She took aim at the witch's head.

BANG.

A loud screech told her she hit, and quickly she moved to the left, just as the witch smacked into the exit door. Nick lit the pipe bomb just as she flipped through the door and tumbled into the propane closet with a loud crash. Ellis stood up quickly and ran outside, followed by Rochelle. Nick wasted no time; he threw the pipe bomb into the propane room, just before Coach slammed the door shut and dropped the cinder block in front of it. The both bolted, counting down the seconds before the immanent explosion.

"Oh SHIT! RUN!"

They didn't dare stop. They could still hear the witch's shrill screeches, echoing throughout the small river valley they were in. They counted down the seconds... 5... 4... 3...

"HIT THE DIRT!" Ellis yelled, diving behind a nearby tree. The other three followed suit, covering their heads as best as they could.

...2...1

Everything went still for a moment, before the entire safe house blew up, cutting the witch's shrieks short and sending cement and debris everywhere. Smoke permeated the area, as well as the smell of the burning witch. The four survivors cringed as a second set of blasts rocked the safe house, making the ground shake as the force of the blast blew past them. They waited with bated breath, not daring to move, eyes squeezed shut, waiting...

Nick was the first to raise his head. He squinted, trying to see through the thick smoke. The safe house remained ablaze, and no sign of the witch anywhere.

Ellis raised his head slowly. He laughed to himself. "God DAMN, that was awesome!"

"I gotta hand it to you, Ellis. When it comes to explosions, you deliver." Nick stood up, brushing himself off. "Oh, god damn it! Grass stains! These will never come out!"

They would've laughed. But just then, they heard a chorus of screeches and moans. A shrill, crazed laugh, followed by a low, guttural growl. Somewhere in the distance, they could hear a rough, raspy voice yell, "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYY!"

"Oh... shit..." Rochelle breathed. "The horde... oh shit." The four of them, back to back, squeezed closer together, awaiting the horde.

Nick shot a sideways glance at Ellis. "This... is totally your fault."


End file.
